"I’m a Little Man. I’m a Little Man."

I’ve reached my breaking point with you. And I was willing to look the other way for a long, long time. Because you’re so goddamn entertaining. Because for a guy who’s only been here a couple years, you’ve got that full on Sox Swagger, as if you and Teddy Ballgame were bunkies back in the day. Because you seem to love playing on this team more than you enjoy breathing or shagging the missus or sharing a meat sammich with your motorcycle buddies. Because you gave yourself the greatest nickname a player has ever bestowed upon himself: El Bencho.

But I can’t deny it any longer. Watching you play first base is like putting my nuts in a waffle iron.

Last night was a perfect example. Now don’t get me wrong. The whole goddam game was a textbook example of pure, unadulterated suckitude. Just a miserable, gouge-your-eyes-out-with-a-paper-towel-roll exercise, punctuated by horrific baserunning, an unfathomable strike zone, and our offense getting shut down by a guy whose last start was a rehab stint in triple A.

The only bright light was Boomer. The guy has become one of the best things about the 2005 team. When Pedro was around, I looked forward to his starts like my Uncle Terry looks forward to thong night at the Hong Kong. So much fun to watch, because you never knew when you’d see a no-hitter or a punk taken out with an inside pitch. Same with D-Lowe. With each start, you never knew if you’d see him break down mid-game and just tear off his uniform, revealing a full set of footie Clifford jammies.

This year’s staff? Not so exciting. Clement? Nice beard, but overall, Feh. Arroyo? I’m just not feeling it. Wade Miller? Guy looks like he’d rather be cataloguing his Clancy Brothers CDs.

Boomer is the exception. And last night, he pitched well enough to win, even escaping a harrowing, two-on, none-out thing in the first inning. The turning point came in the seventh. After Damon put the Sox ahead 3-2 with a two-run homer in the top of the inning, Wells gets the lead batter out, then serves one to Toby Hall, who slaps it up the middle only to see Edgah make a phenomenal snare. The thing is, to complete the play, Edgah must throw to first base. And when Millar is at first base instead of Olreud, your chances of completing said play are, to put it mildly, lessened. So, yeah, Millar booted the f–king thing. And before I could stuff my head between the cushions of my couch to shield me from the inevitable, Timlin comes in and the runner on first is soon crossing the plate.

Game tied.

Oh, and just to ensure that his ineptitude wasn’t limited to his defense, Millar also pulled an 0-for-4, striking out three times and leaving 4 men on base. Hey, thanks for coming.

It’s just become too much, folks. Trust me, I don’t want to send Millar a crate of tainted muffins. But… it just might come to that.